In late tsarist Russia, when a Russian historian writes about Russia he need not justify his activity; his work is naturally understood as an example of cultural self-expression. When a Jew, however, writes about Russia for an intended Russian audience, he has to explain and defend his work before himself, before his fellow Jews and before hostile Russians. His work inevitably elicits questions, and coming from a repressed ethnic minority, the assimilated Jew appears suspect. Why does he so love the nation which treats his people so badly?

When Ita Myshkind learned that her husband had remarried before delivering the official get (bill of divorcement), she filed criminal charges against him in state court. “My husband,” she claimed, “Wishing to use my capital and valuable possessions, married me with the premeditated intention of divorcing me.” She complained that a few months after their marriage, he deserted her and married a certain Dveira Rafaelovich; and it was only after this blatant violation of the law that her husband hastily drew up the get without any rabbinic supervision. Efroim Myshkind, however, sharply contested his wife's account, asserting that he had sent a messenger to deliver the writ of divorce in the presence of two witnesses. “It is not at all difficult for a Jew to divorce his wife,” he wrote, “especially if she does not have a good reputation like Ita Kreines [here he used her maiden name], who spent an entire year abroad with different acquaintances.” But at the trial, the husband failed to prove that the get had satisfied all the requirements of Jewish law, much less that his wife had actually received the document. More important in the state's view, he had violated Russian civil law, which required a “spiritual authority” (in this case, a state rabbi) to supervise the divorce procedure. In October 1884, the Minsk court convicted the husband of bigamy and sentenced him to five months and ten days in prison.

Although Ita Myshkind did not achieve all her objectives (namely, forcing her husband to divorce his second wife), she did prevail on two important issues: securing material support and ensuring that her husband would not go unpunished for his crime. That a provincial Jewish woman could utilize the Russian legal system to obtain justice raises two important questions: first, when and why did some women begin to resort to the state; and second, how effective were their efforts and what was the impact on Jewish women and their society as a whole?

It is significant that, at a time in which violent nationalisms are re-entering the European political stage, one of the basic aims of Romani elites in the area of human rights is to be recognized as a nation, a fact marked symbolically by the attention being paid to national emblems. Of course, other issues (equal civil rights, minority rights, political representation or community development) are also among the objectives of Roma organizations (PER Report, 1992, p. 7). However, in the case of these latter issues, the question can be asked, to whom are these basic human rights to be granted? In other words, Romani elites seem to realize that the most important right for which they should strive is the right to have a commonly accepted and externally recognized self-definition as a group which should be granted consequent rights. In the present circumstances, especially in Eastern Europe, there is little doubt that the elected self-identification by the Romani people will be a national one, since this is perceived as stronger and more respectable than other identity-constructs such as ethnic minority.

The political changes which started in Central and Eastern Europe in 1989 have exposed the real ethnic faces of these societies. It has become obvious that the population of these countries were not homogeneous “socialist nations.” During the post-repressive period some ethnic prejudice re-appeared—both between nations and between ethnic groups within these countries.

Das deutsche Interesse an der Ukraine war nicht ausschließlich an die Person des Het'mans gebunden. Gegen Ende des Krieges begann in Deutschland die im März 1918 von Paul Rohrbach und Axel Schmidt ins Leben gerufene “Deutsch-Ukrainische Gesellschaft” (DUG) ihre Aktivitäten auszuweiten. Sie veröffentlichte eine Zeitschrift (“Die Ukraine”), die zunächst bis zum November 1922 erschien. In ihr trafen mehrere an der Ukraine interessierte Strömungen zusammen. Rohrbach und Schmidt waren primär an der Auflösung des russischen Großreichs interessiert, um aus den “Randstaaten” wirtschaftlich für Deutschland interessante und gleichzeitig die politische Lage ausgleichende Gebiete zu machen. Der liberalen Grundtendenz entsprachen das Streben nach freier Markt wirtschaft und die wie selbstverständlich vorausgesetzte Praktizierung der fundamentalen Menschenrechte durch die entstehenden Nationen. Diese beiden letzten Positionen korrespondierten mit den linkeren Exponenten der Ukrainischen Volksrepublik: den großrussischen Föderationsplänen Skoropads'kyjs und der deutschen Militärs widersprachen sie deutlich. Rohrbach war als Feind des Russischen Reiches auch Gegner seiner deutschen Sympathisanten Das Auswärtige Amt hatte sich eine Zeitlang (wie auch das Militär im Frühjahr 1918) Positives von der ukrainischen Selbständigkeit (sowohl gegen Polen als auch gegen die Entente) versprochen; im Zuge der Konsolidierung Sowjetrußlands und der von der Entente Polen gewährten Sicherheiten verlor die bürgerlich-ukrainische Eigenständigkeit dann an Bedeutung, um in abgewandeltem Kontext 1926 erneut Relevanz zu gewinnen.

Once upon a time there lived a rich widow, with a beautiful face and vigorous body, not old and not young, by the name of Mother Russia. She had been married twice, the first time to the peasant-bogatyr Mikula Selianinovich, and the second to the no less renowned warrior-bogatyr Il'ia Muromets.

Her husbands had left her countless riches. And God had blessed both her marriages with many children. For the most part, her children were hard-working people and valiant warriors. They worked their father's land and protected it from hostile neighbors.

But, as always happens, the family was not without its black sheep. Mother Russia also had some children who were good-for-nothings, idlers, drunkards, and empty-headed chatterboxes. And it was not surprising that these good-for-nothings grabbed power over all the widow's other children.

As the loving mother began to grieve and take ill from their indecent debauchery, they assumed control over her and all her possessions. And they began to squander and drink up her wealth, and to send all sorts of healers to try and cure their sick mother.

The outbreak of civil war and the disintegration of the “second Yugoslavia” was caused by many factors; however the impact of the debilitating conflict within the Yugoslav political elite, into which the ordinary citizens also were “drawn,” was crucial. This article will seek to support this hypothesis.

English-speakers and Bulgarian-speakers seem to read the term “minority” differently. While in English it is more a demographic term, meaning part of the population which is numerically smaller and distinctive from the largest group (the majority of the country), to Bulgarians the term has inalienable political connotations: “minority” is an ethnic or religious group, the rights of which are protected by international agreements and law with far reaching consequences.

During the conservative period in Hungary between the two world wars, three unusual young women, Erzsébet Árvay, Judit Kárász, and Viola Tomori, joined a vanguard of youth who claimed to lead a new generation of Hungarians. As members of the Szeged Youth, they took up the cause of the peasantry of the Great Hungarian Plain, an isolated and neglected population presumed to bear “original Hungarian characteristics.” Until recently, the relationship between gender and nationalism in studies on Eastern Europe has been neglected. Current developments in post-communist societies have sharpened our realization that historical periods are experienced differently and have different implications when seen from the vantage point of women rather than men. Intriguing questions are raised concerning these women's participation in the Szeged Youth Movement and their active role with the peasantry. In a society often characterized as restrictive and limiting, what was the experience of the young woman activist? Was she accepted by her peers as their intellectual equal? How did she feel about her final place in national affairs? These questions are elusive and complex, yet the example of the Szeged Youth Movement in the 1920s and 1930s provides a compelling study of the intersection of gender and national identity in the Hungarian context.

During the interwar period in Hungary, the question of the fate of the Hungarian “nation”—which included the Hungarian population in the territories lost after World War I—took precedence over all others. This was true in respect to women's issues as well. The peace settlement was viewed as a national tragedy, reviving fears that the Hungarians or magyarsag would disappear, swallowed up by the surrounding Germanic and Slavic peoples. Virtually the whole population believed that the Treaty of Trianon of 1920, which had reduced the Hungarian state to two-thirds of its former size, leaving 33.5% of the ethnic Hungarian inhabitants outside the borders, had been unjust and should be revised. The government under Prime Minister István Bethlen struggled to restore economic stability and to regain acceptance by the Western powers, on whom revision of the treaty depended. Certain moderate reforms were introduced, including the extension of the franchise to women and the broadening of educational opportunities. Yet, social insurance reforms for the urban populations were not extended to the masses of peasantry and rural proletariat, which still constituted over half of the population. In fact, the need to maintain the support of the large landowners precluded any extensive land reform, and Hungary remained a country of large estates.

The huge polar archipelago of Novaya Zemlya is well known as a nuclear testing site devoid of a civilian population. But in many cartographical sources, e.g., maps in the National Geographic Magazine, one can still see a set of settlements along its coasts. Soviet sources showed these settlements until 1956 (Atlas mira, 1954; Atlas mira, 1955), at a time when full military control was established on the islands. But what is the fate of these high latitude settlements now? It is their historical background and population that will be reviewed with special reference to ethnic problems, proving to be a unique experiment in the economic use of this high Arctic area.

Taken as a key area, Novaya Zemlya is the largest archipelago of the European Arctic, ca. 83,000 sq.km., consisting of two main islands and numerous smaller ones. The main islands, Northern and Southern, are separated by the narrow strait, Matochkin Shar. The huge archipelago stretches almost 900 km in a submeridional direction and is considered a structural continuation of the Urals. The mountains often rise more than 1,000 m above sea-level, the highest summit attaining 1,547 m. Almost 25% of the total area is covered by ice. The most extensive glaciation is on the northern and central parts of the Northern Island, which is a vast ice sheet and an outlet of several glaciers.

Today, after the signing of the peace agreement in Paris, when the end of the Yugoslav war is in sight, one frequently hears the questions: Could the war have been avoided and could a confederation have saved Yugoslavia? Namely, in late 1990 and early 1991, the republics now outside Yugoslavia (Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia-Hercegovina and Macedonia) proposed that Yugoslavia be reorganised as a confederation which would, as they claimed, have fulfilled their main political aspirations. The Serbian side refused resolutely, and, soon afterwards, war started in Slovenia, Croatia and Bosnia-Hercegovina, which was actually their war of liberation. Now, when the republics in the territory of ex-Yugoslavia are internationally recognised, when they have largely recognised each other and when we are witnessing the restoration of economic and other relations between the peoples who shared a common state for seventy-three years, we may justifiably ask: Would it not have been better if the Serbian side had accepted a confederation and, thus, preserved some kind of Yugoslavia, than, by its persistent refusal, have lead the secessionist republics to take up arms?

How do I define Azerbaijani women's identity? This is very complicated, because we have been influenced by Russia, Iran, Turkey, the Caucasus and Islam … Every day we have to wear different masks and juggle multiple identities. You cannot find a single or typical Azeri female identity. You cannot generalize any type to the whole population of Azeri women since we vary so much.

Kazakhstan has experienced more powerful pressures of migration unlike any other republic of the former Soviet Union. An especially great number of immigrants came to Kazakhstan during the Soviet period. Many peoples of the former Soviet Union, often against their wishes, took up residence in the republic. The recent situation in Kazakhstan is characterized by a further intensification of migratory processes. Their complicated character, both in the past and today, has, in many aspects, influenced the present-day problems of the republic.

The role of historical and cultural influences in recent Balkan warfare has been the subject of considerable debate among commentators both within and outside the former Yugoslavia. For example, some observers, who might be considered members of the primordial hatred school, have emphasized the cyclical role of “ancient enmities” and atavistic impulses in the Balkans. In contrast, another group of analysts, who have subscribed to the paradise lost approach, focus on the long periods during which populations of different languages, religions, and other facets of Balkan ethnic identity, managed to peacefully co-exist. This second perspective downplays historical factors and attributes the violence and savagery of recent years to nationalist leaders who whipped up antagonisms to suit their own political agendas.

Croatian President Dr. Franjo Tudjman's announcement on 12 January 1995 that, as of 31 March, he was withdrawing Croatia's “hospitality” to the 12,000-person U.N. Protection Force (UNPROFOR), stationed in strategic locations on its territory, was a calculated gamble. As subsequent events showed, the risk was not as great as it first appeared. The departure of the UNPROFOR buffer force seemed, on the one hand, to expose Croatia and its army, the HV, to a resumption of hostilities with the rebel Serb forces of the self-proclaimed Republika Srpska Krajina (RSK) and their Serbian allies in Bosnia (RS—Republika Srpska) and, possibly, the rump Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (Serbia-Montenegro). The UNPROFOR presence had largely kept such hostilities in check since early 1992, and the outcome of their resumption was at best uncertain.

Recent scholarship has poignantly argued that the founding of modern “Western” nation-states is to a large degree a product of their drawn out colonial encounters with “the East.” It is convincingly argued that “the West” constructed its own self-assured, national and supra-national identities in the process of “discovering” and “inventing” the exotic yet inferior “East.” Furthermore, a diverse body of scholarship has delineated the central role of discourses on gender and sexuality in the development of Western societies and, in particular, nation-states. If the image of “pious mother” became key to Western national self-images, it was the counter-image of the women of the harem—veiled, oppressed, and mysterious—that typified representations of Eastern barbarism. Furthermore, Western economic and political penetration of its colonies was to a large degree justified by the “gendering” of the “irrational Orient” versus the “rational Occident.” The “liberation” of Islamic women from their “oppression” as typified by the veil became central to Western “civilizing” missions, which had far-reaching echoes on the frontiers of European society.